


Albert Is Not Here

by AnotherAnon0



Series: A Complicated Affair [16]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: A little bit of humour, Anal Sex, Car Accidents, Clones, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Ethics, Face Sitting, Fucked Up, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Sadism, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-con to Con, Non-consensual experimentation, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self-cest, Sergei sandwich!, Service Submission, Sexual Slavery, This story does a 180 from dark to light, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Sergei wants to possess Albert.With the help of cloning technology, he tries to fulfil his fantasies.[Heed tags!!]
Relationships: Albert Wesker/Albert Wesker, Sergei Vladimir/Albert Wesker
Series: A Complicated Affair [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827997
Comments: 20
Kudos: 15





	1. Malcontent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Radelski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radelski/gifts).



"Would you like more tea, Master?"

The voice was as delicate as the soft glow of morning sunlight diffusing through the sheer curtains of his living room. It spoke through tender, pink lips that were just barely twitching up into a gentle smile.

When Sergei's unscarred eye flicked upwards, the smile lost its hesitancy and blossomed fully, peeling those lips away from perfect, white teeth. Handsome eyes pinched narrower with the balling of cheeks, but they were mostly empty. Blue voids to get lost in -- holes that led no where. 

Albert. 

_Not_ Albert. 

"Mm. Yes."

His blond hair glistened in the light as he leaned over the table and tenderly poured the waiting glass full from the porcelain pot he'd been holding while standing, waiting. Always perfectly delivered, never a drop spilled. One done, he leaned back to where he stood by the table, holding the pot like an appliance. 

Sergei returned to his dossier, reading through the briefing notes before he had to leave to the executive board meeting.

Silence. 

Birds were chirping outside, songs fluttering in through the slightly cracked windows, travelling on the breeze. They complimented the distant din of traffic rolling outside the bustling street of his downtown Raccoon City flat. So high up, the traffic never bothered him. 

Sergei picked up his cup and took a sip, appreciating the deep, bitter flavour mixed with the perfect dash of sweetness.

It was always perfect.

Everything was.

Disgustingly so. 

"What would you like for dinner tonight, Master? We have beef or... turbot."

Sergei's eyes flicked upwards again, his nostril twitching as he detected the slightest error in how _not_ Albert pronounced _turbot_. _Real_ Albert would never pronounce it the way he had -- a click between the _b_ and the final _t_. But _not_ Albert had never heard _real_ Albert say the word, and had no frame of reference from which to draw. A little crack in the otherwise seamless mask.

"We will go out for dinner tonight." Sergei said flatly, downing the remainder of his glass before standing from the table. He snatched up his paperwork and, like on cue, the other man set down the teapot and shuffled over to the foyer to retrieve his overcoat. Sergei only needed to slip his arms into the offered sleeves, the fabric being carefully tutted over his shoulders by dutiful fingers. 

Once dressed, he first went to the hall closet and pulled a box from the top most shelf. It was small, but stuffed with dozens of cassettes and a walkman. He handed the box to the younger man, who didn't flinch when he saw it. He was well acquainted with it, though it was one of several. They were re-recordings of other tapes, ones pulled from the S.T.A.R.S archives where _real_ Albert narrated briefings for future Police reference.

"You listen to your tapes while I am gone. Practice."

"Yes, Master."

~

He wasn't _bad_ , Sergei supposed. 

Sitting across from him in the handsome, red-cushioned booth he would be mistaken for the real thing by anyone. 

Neat blond hair set into a perfect coif. A slender-fitting, black suit custom-ordered from the same tailor _real_ Albert frequented. He even had the glasses.

But despite not being bad, he wasn't the real thing. And Sergei wasn't sure why that bothered him so.

If anything, the clone, made from a single strand of _real_ Albert's plucked hair, was superior in every measurable way. 

Subservient. Respectful. Predictable. Deferential. Solely focused on his pleasure and happiness. He had no physical or emotional limits Sergei needed to consider. He had no sense of self-preservation, either.

He'd scream when he was asked to scream. Cry when he was asked to cry. He knew when to moan and when to beg. He'd call him Master. Colonel. Sir. King. God. Whatever he wanted to be called. He knew when to lay on his back and spread his legs. And he knew when to get on his knees and open his mouth. 

Or, as he was doing now, he knew when to be a perfect little pet. 

He was quietly waiting for his Master's words, a perpetually pleased smile on his lips.

Sergei tapped the edge of his spoon against the table incessantly like he were clicking a pen, unscarred eye flicking over _not_ Albert's glass-like pale cheeks.

"Why aren't you good enough..." He mumbled bitterly, too low for the approaching waiter to hear.

"Have you decided on what you'd prefer for tonight's meal, Mr. Vladimirov?" The man asked respectfully, setting down a silver tray with the beverages he'd ordered and immediately pouring him his first glass of fine vodka. 

"I'll have the ice crab." He said, pulling himself from whatever place he'd zoned out to. The waiter then turned to _not_ Albert with a smile.

"And for you, Mr. Weske--" Sergei stopped him, interrupting his question.

"He'll have the minted lamb." He said, passing the menus back. 

_Real_ Albert liked lamb.

~

He'd drank too much.

He was a big man, but two bottles of the hard liquor was excessive even for him. The Maitre'd had reservations about fulfilling his request after the first had disappeared too rapidly, but they were expensive and Sergei was a good tipper.

Usually, he tried to resist fitting into the stereotype of the Russian drunk, especially when he was in public. But he stopped caring after the fourth glass in. He could control himself well enough, even through the obvious stumbles to the car. 

Just as well, usually, he wasn't an angry drunk.

 _Usually_.

As they'd eaten he'd felt a rage swelling in his chest he could not explain or suppress. It was like every little thing the blond did grated on his nerves. 

The perfect little bites he took. 

The perfect way he chewed.

The perfect way he thanked him after every mouthful as if he enjoyed it, even if he didn't have the capacity to understand the flavours in his mouth. 

Even the perfect way he clutched on to his side and chest when he walked after his vodka binge, helping him stay upright.

When the driver dropped them off to his condo building, _not_ Albert stayed silent, perpetual smile still tickling at his face. He walked closely to him through the grand lobby, and slipped beside him into the empty elevator. As they ascended to the 16th floor, _not_ Albert turned and looked up at his still-wobbly form.

"Are you alright, Master?"

Sergei didn't answer.

The elevator dinged with the announcement of their arrival a moment later.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Master?"

Almost involuntarily, Sergei reached out and grabbed a fistful of blond hair, causing the other man to squeak in shock and pain. Sergei practically dragged him down the short hall to the door of his condo, sloppily rattling the keys into the lock with all of the disorientation of drunkenness. 

_Not_ Albert didn't resist, mewling slightly but otherwise making no attempt to free himself from the painful grip on his hair. His dark glasses tumbled to the floor and he seemed more concerned with trying to reach for them.

"M-Master w-what did I d-do w-wrong?"

Sergei didn't answer him again, forcing the door open before throwing him into the foyer aggressively. His smaller body tumbled to the ground as Sergei slammed the door shut behind them. He strode up to where _not_ Albert had fallen, scarred face twisted in a grimace of absolute fury. 

Those empty, hollow blue eyes looked up at him with confusion, not fear. 

"I'm s-s-sorry if I d-did some-thing w-wrong, M-Mast--"

His whimper was quickly silenced with a boot to the face, Sergei kicking his tread into the clone's nose and dislodging the cartilage on impact. Blood began to pour down his lips, a piece of his eyelid that had caught the tread swelling almost instantaneously with broken vessels beneath unbroken skin. Still, he made no effort or attempt to move or stop the assault.

"'m 'orr-y..." He sputtered, choking on the blood running into his mouth, "P-pl-ple' f-forg've'm, M-ma'ter."

Sergei kicked him again, this time letting the toe of his boot lunge into _not_ Albert's cheekbone. The clone's head jerked to the side, slamming against the floor. Blood sprayed from between his lips, and he seemed to lose consciousness for a few tender seconds. Sergei huffed and panted with rage, hands balled into fists at his sides. Completely unconcerned with his blackout, Sergei delivered one last kick, the toe of his boot making contact with his ear and cracking his neck sideways with the force. 

_Not_ Albert sputtered to life as red tendrils began to pour from the shell, his eardrum having imploded on contact.

" _ **You're not him**_!" Sergei bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled down at the battered clone at his feet. Not Albert looked up at him through swelling eyes, hearing muffled significantly. Still, no fear was present -- only confusion and innocence.

"I...'m... A-Al-b-be..rt, M-ma'ter."

" _ **No you're not**_!!" 

"O-okk...oka...y... n-not..."

The clone almost slipped on his own blood as he struggled to stand, choppy jerks almost felling him twice. For a moment, Sergei was almost hopeful that there would be some resistance. Some imperfection. That maybe he'd run. 

_Real_ Albert would fight.

 _Real_ Albert might even win.

But _not_ Albert simply staggered to the couch and bent over it, fingers working the buckle of his belt sloppily. He would offer his body, as he always did, like it were a soother. It almost enraged Sergei more when he pushed his pants down and spread his legs as wide as the fabric would allow. _Real_ Albert would never do that. The imitation couldn't even get raped properly. 

"H-here, M-ma'ter, p-plea' f-fuck m-me... He-help you feel be'der." He slurred through swollen, bruised lips.

He didn't even sound like _real_ Albert anymore. 

Because he wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request fulfilment for the lovely Radelski who gifted me an INCREDIBLE piece of Sergei/Albert fan art (which can be found in Chapter 10 of Barbie Doll in the endnotes).
> 
> BUT AS ALWAYS WITH MY REQUEST FULFILLMENTS I AM REALLY HORRIBLE PERSON AND I TAKE LIBERTIES. So I hope they like how it turned out anyway, and I was thinking about adding a second chapter at some point with real Albert finding out what Sergei did with his stolen hair. Would you like to see that?!
> 
> TT-TT
> 
> [EDIT: IF YOU WANT THE STORY TO STAY DARK AND CREEPY... End here. Consider everything else that follows an alternative take on the same concept]


	2. Out with the Old

_Not_ Albert didn't last into the morning.

The kicks Sergei had delivered to his head had caused a brain bleed, one which slowly took its toll throughout the night. _Not_ Albert seized and fell unconscious a short few hours after Sergei reluctantly took him, and when blood began to pour out of his eyes and ears Sergei set him in the bathtub and went to sleep. By the time Sergei woke up in the morning, he was dead. 

It was less a tragedy to Sergei than an inconvenience. He cursed himself for his drunken aggression, regretting his harshness. 

Even if he hadn't been perfect, he was _something_.

Sergei wrapped him up in a bedsheet, tying the corners together and fashioning it into a makeshift garbage bag. He then called the inconspicuously named _Rainy Day Cleaning Company_ \-- a private service owned by Umbrella hiding under a shell company. The cleaners could make any body, weapon, or piece of evidence disappear without a trace, no questions asked. While they were most frequently used by U.B.C.S and U.S.S after assassinations and shakedowns, Sergei was a semi-regular private client.

Two hours later, a duo of white-suited men arrived with all manner of supplies. They wrapped the body, stripped the bloody bedsheets and couch cushion covers, and scrubbed the condo down with harsh bleach until not a molecule from the previous night's beating or the morning's death remained. Sergei made himself breakfast while they worked, sitting down at his kitchen table still in nothing but his pyjama pants. 

Just as the cleaners moved to wordlessly leave, taking their supplies and the _rubbish_ with them, Sergei heard a peep of disgust from the door.

"Jesus Christ, Sergei."

Dr. Franz Lund was a senior virologist at Umbrella. Sergei had known him since he first joined the company, the little, dishevelled German always willing and able to preform even the sickest, most unethical experiments _for science._ Sergei had sought him out to create the Albert clone, stuffing a few envelopes of cash in his pocket and threatening the structural integrity of his scrotum to ensure silence. He'd been the first one Sergei had called that morning.

Franz shuffled around the corner of the foyer, pointing at the body-sized garbage bag being hauled away as he stared Sergei down from behind thick, round glasses.

"What the fuck did you do?"

"It was an accident." Sergei shrugged, mumbling into his coffee cup. 

"Accident, my ass! You need therapy." He spat.

"I didn't _call_ you to chastise me, I _called_ you because need another one."

"Fuck no!"

Sergei nibbled off a piece of his buttered baguette, unscarred eye narrowing in a silent glare at the man.

Franz sighed loudly, "Fuckin' hell... Fine!" He sniffled, "Two weeks... I need to go sniffing around Wesker's desk for more hair."

"Mm." Sergei agreed nonchalantly, picking up his mug again, "And try for an attitude adjustment. Maybe a bit more testosterone. Make him a bit more... natural."

Franz rolled his eyes, "Just don't kill this one, this time! No more after this! You giant Russian dog."

~

"F-fuck y-yeah! Hard-der, S-ir!!"

Sergei smirked and obliged, ramming his hips harder into the fleshy tush before him. His grip tightened on _not_ Albert's hips as he thrust, the clone's guts flexing in all of the right places to massage his cock from the inside. Perverse squelching noises accompanied every push Sergei made into his body, the thin, water-based lube practically dripping out of his stuffed hole like a sloppy cunt.

He liked this _not_ Albert more than the last.

While it was still almost dully obedient, it was far more sexually aggressive. The testosterone Franz had added during his test-tube creation had done wonders for his sex drive, and he actually seemed to _enjoy_ sex -- or at least gave a better illusion of it. The last had looked detached and awkward during sex, forcing Sergei to resort to stuffing the pillow over his face while fucking him. And what was the point in having an _Albert Wesker_ clone if he couldn't even see _Albert Wesker_ while he fucked him?

Perhaps it was for the best that the last had gone as unceremoniously as he had.

Out with the old, in with the new and all.

"Oooh! Y-your c-cock is so _**b-b-big**_ , Sir!" The blond simulacrum moaned, gripping into the bedsheets, "I _**love**_ y-your b-big c-cock!"

Sergei reached across the clone's back, threading his fingers through a patch of blonde locks and tugging them roughly. _Not_ Albert simply mewed excitedly at the pain, wiggling his bottom into Sergei's thrusts. 

"Say your name while you beg for my cum." Sergei grunted, his belly fluttering with the warning that his orgasm was drawing near. He knew what was expected of him.

"A-Albert W-esk-er _**n-needs**_ M-Master's c-cum!!" The clone blathered, arching his back deeper. 

" _ **Again**_..." He growled, slamming himself into _not_ Albert's bottom with a bruising force.

"Ooh!!" The blond hiccuped, "Ooh! Al-Al-Alber-ert W-W-Wesker _ **l-loves**_ M-Mas-Master S-Sergei's _**c-cum**_!! H-He w-wants to b-be fill-filled up!"

Sergei fully sheathed himself in _not_ Albert's body, aggressively releasing the grip he had on the tuft of blond hair by tossing the other man face-first into the mattress. He pulled the warm body closer, muscles clenching as he released his thick load deep in the clone's innards. _Not_ Albert orgasmed as he felt warmth flood into him, tendrils of his white, milky cream dripping onto the bedsheets below his hips. 

They were both left gasping, panting messes as they came down from their orgasmic highs, Sergei waiting a moment before he withdrew. He assessed the other man's blushing bottom appreciatively for a moment, tongue playing on his lips as he noticed his cum begin to slip out of _not_ Albert's slackened hole and leak down his inner thighs.

Sergei shuffled off of the bed a moment after he composed himself, striding into the en-suite bathroom to roughly towel himself off of the lubricant and juice. He tugged a white bathrobe around his shoulders and washed his hands quickly, deciding he needed a post-sex drink and cigarette.

 _Not_ Albert was stumbling off of the bed to stand when he re-entered the bedroom, huffing through a shaky smile. As always, he anticipated his Master's needs.

"I c-can get it f-for you, Sir..." He said, still catching his breath. 

Sergei smirked, "Thank you, _malysh_."

He made his way to his balcony while _not_ Albert was in the kitchen, wanting some fresh air. He slid the door open and stepped out onto the sizeable platform that overlooked the Raccoon City skyline. It was dark out, and the streets were lit up with the usual bout of Friday night traffic -- people hurrying to bars, parties, and restaurants. 

He took a deep breath, letting the air cool his lungs and stomach, further pulling him down from his sexual high and into clarity. He felt contented.

"Master, I cannot find your cigarettes." _Not_ Albert said, slipping around him to offer him his favourite kind of dry martini in a chilled glass. Somehow, _not_ Albert had shaped the stem of the cherry into a bow. It made Sergei chuckle.

"You checked the drawers?"

The blond nodded. He was still nude, but exposing his body to the outdoors and plentiful surrounding of sky rise windows didn't bother him in the slightest. He had no shame, unless Sergei told him to.

"Hmm..." Sergei thought for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes fluttered downwards to where he could see his SUV parked across the street, "Ah. I think I left them in the car."

"I can go get them!" _Not_ Albert offered cheerily, beaming a bright smile of usefulness. 

" _Spasiba, kukla_." Sergei patted _not_ Albert on the head like he were an animal, reminding him to put on a night coat before he went outdoors.

Yes. He did like this clone better. 

Though he wasn't perfect -- he was good enough. 

Responsive but not argumentative. Lusty but not single-minded. Pleasing but not over-baring like the last had been. He'd also mastered _real_ Albert's accent far better than the last, too, though Sergei figured it could have been because he'd managed to scrounge up more S.T.A.R.S meeting tapes thanks to the help of Brian Irons.

Sergei continued to contentedly sip away at his cocktail, eyes catching the tuft of golden hair emerging into the streets below the building. He smiled as he watched not Albert cross the road and open the SUV door, climbing inside to look for the missing pack of tobacco. 

After a moment, he reemerged and the SUV sounded with being locked by the remote starter. Sergei could see n _ot_ Albert look upwards, waving at him from 16 floors below. He waved back with a smile. 

Sergei snorted to himself, thinking it quite cute. 

He watched the clone for a moment as he waited to cross the street before lifting the cocktail to his lips again for a deep swig.

Before he could even lower the glass, he heard a tremendously loud **_SCREEEECH_**.

He sputtered, looking down to the street below, where he saw a car twisted into the middle of the lane... and _not_ Albert laying on the road a few feet from its bumper. Sergei dropped his glass, letting it shatter at his feet. His eyes widened as he watched people steadily scream and gasp in horror, a few passersby rushing over to crowd around the lifeless body.

"Oh, for _**FUCK'S**_ sake." Sergei spat, turning on his heels and storming into his condo with a grimace. He marched over to the kitchen, and practically ripped the phone off of the wall. He aggressively punched in the number he knew from memory, ambulance sirens beginning to wail in the distance and flutter in through his open balcony door.

"Franz?! It's Sergei."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WILL BE ONE MORE CHAPTER. Coming out very soon. 
> 
> this plot bunny hit me EXTREMELY fucking hard and I needed to finish this.


	3. My own Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically just pure smut for the sick folks

The _Rainy Day Cleaning Company_ found the second _not_ Albert at the Raccoon City Morgue. Armed with a letter from Brian Irons, they were able to take and dispose of the body without suspicion under the guise of bringing it to the RPD. 

After an extended argument with Dr. Franz Lund and additional threats to his scrotal integrity, Sergei was able to slip him more money for a third _not_ Albert, who was unceremoniously delivered to his door two weeks later. 

The third _not_ Albert was somewhere between the second and the first in acceptability. A bit too chipper for Sergei's tastes but good _enough_.

But not three weeks into his service, he contracted the flu and died -- completely synthetic immune system incapable of fighting off even the most basic bug. 

The fourth _not_ Albert was of such poor quality that Sergei had called Dr. Lund minutes after it was pushed through his door by the anonymous couriers.

 _"He's not even blond!_ " Sergei had spat to Franz over the phone, pinching his nose bridge in exasperation as the virologist sputtered through an explanation. The DNA Duplication Machine was being overworked and strained. Clones normally took 4-6 weeks to develop, and Sergei wanted them in less than 2. 

_"This is getting ridiculous! I don't have time for this!"_ He'd screeched.

_"If you have no time for **this** , you have no time to own a **cock** , do you understand?"_

The _Rainy Day Cleaning Company_ workers had been confused when he'd called them to dispose of a _live_ body. But they packed him up in a garbage bag nonetheless, the compliant clone stepping in to the black plastic without complaint.

Dr. Lund had convinced him to wait a bit longer for the next, assuring him the clone would be of better quality if he had more time to source a higher quality DNA from Albert. A dead strand of hair could only do so much. If he could get skin, or even blood, the clone would be almost indistinguishable from the real thing. 

Four weeks later, the fifth _not_ Albert was delivered. 

Sergei assessed him carefully when he stepped through to the threshold of his condo, dressed in basic discharge clothes as all of the others had been. A grey tracksuit embroidered with the Umbrella logo and white sneakers that recalled hospital wear. But Sergei was focused on his face.

It -- _he_ \-- was perfect. 

His skin didn't glisten with the nearly-plastic freshness the others had, instead looking a bit worn and gaunt. His dark blue eyes weren't simply voids that led no where, they had some _depth_. Real, handsome depth -- especially when they bore into his gaze for the first time. Sergei felt like he was getting lost in them, his attention only pulled when he saw the clone's pink lips begin to twitch with movement.

"Hello... Master." He spoke softly, quietly, naturally.

His voice, just as silky smooth as the real thing, almost made Sergei _moan_. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?"

Sergei couldn't even verbally respond, he simply lunged to dig his lips into _not_ Albert's neck, slurping up the exposed skin like a man wild with starvation.

"O-oh!" The clone breathed, letting his body be pressed against the nearest wall. His hips bucked up to grind into Sergei's thighs, clearly delighting in the burst of pleasure that came with Sergei's relentless sucking at his neck.

Sergei nibbled and slurped at the tendons that were dancing beneath the thin, pale flesh, hands roughly groping at every inch of the body he could reach. His grabs and kneads were sloppy and amateur, moving from hips to bottom to groin, trying to feel everything he could as quickly as he could. But the moment his fingers moved to slip beneath the elastic waistband of _not_ Albert's sweatpants, he was stopped. 

A tight hand circled his throat, and, taken off guard completely, he was thrown backwards. He toppled onto the floor, unscarred eye wide with surprise. Adjusting himself up onto his forearms, he stared confusedly at the clone who was slowly sauntering towards him, looming above and smirking a sardonic glance down his nose.

"I heard you liked it rough, Master... Is that true? Do you want me to be rough with you, Sir?"

"Oh _**fuck**_ yeah." Sergei breathed, now fully convinced Dr. Lund had worked some sort of Christ-like miracle in the laboratory. 

The clone set his foot atop Sergei's chest, casually asserting dominance.

"How rough do you want me to be, Master?" He asked, voice a bit flatter. 

Sergei grinned with perversion, lifting a hand to dance along the shoe set atop his diaphragm, "As rough as you want to be, Albert."

"Hmm? You want Albert Wesker to be rough with you?"

"Mmhm..." Sergei hummed in contentedness, unscarred eye flicking towards the shoe that was now grinding down a bit harder. He stroked over the ankle, wishing it were a bit closer so he could plant an obscene kiss on it.

**_click_ **

His attention was immediately redirected by the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. Gaze slowly panning upwards, he realised he was looking down the barrel of a handgun.

The fifth _not_ Albert _was_ Albert.

That much became overwhelmingly obvious in that moment.

"Is this rough enough, you sick pig?"

Sergei rolled his eye, a groan of discontent slipping from his throat. 

Albert looked like he was ready to swallow him whole, nose twitching in disgust as he stared down his nose at him, gun aimed right at his forehead. 

"You absolute _bastard_ , I can't believe what you've been up to." He sneered, hissing with hate through his teeth, "Catching that shitty cunt Lund snooping around my desk! Stealing my-- stealing my tissues, for Christ's sake! You didn't think I'd find out?!"

Sergei sighed and plopped down on the floor. He decided he was going to kill Lund, if Albert hadn't already.

Albert dug his heel into Sergei's chest a bit rougher, eliciting a little grunt of discomfort before jerking his foot away, lowing his gun almost with hesitancy. 

"If you weren't Spencer's little _cocksleeve_ I'd shoot you right here!" He spat, unlocking the hammer and shoving it into his hoodie's front pocket. He turned on his heels and marched towards the front door, cursing up a storm the entire way.

"Stay away from me or I'll fucking do it! I'll **_really_** fucking do it! Spencer be damned!"

~

Sergei was exhausted. 

The past two months had been a blur of action and him jogging around the world having to sew up bursting patches where Umbrella seemed to be splitting at the seams.

He was jetlagged from his flight to Raccoon City from China, and had almost fallen asleep in the car being driven back to his condo. He'd considered taking a hotel closer to the airport just to be able to get to sleep even jut a few minutes earlier, but had ultimately decided that he could survive the hour ride into the city downtown.

Trudging through the lobby and into the elevator, Sergei began the journey to his 16th floor condo. So tired, it took him a few moments to register that there was a slice of light cutting through the bottom of his door, one he only noticed as he was fiddling with his keys. 

Sergei stopped for a moment at stared at it, brow furrowing over his unscarred eye. 

"The fuck..." He muttered, reaching for his doorhandle to test if it were even locked.

Sure enough, it twisted without resistance and the door opened with a push. 

The lights were most definitely on. Adrenaline began to pulsate through his veins, waking him up from his dopey, jetlagged stupor.

While the hall was dark, he could see the lamps in his living room had been turned on. He quietly closed the door behind him, treading as quietly as a man of his stature was able to as he progressed down the hall. 

Interesting smells began to accost him. 

The smell of steam. Of soap. And of... some other _thing_ he felt was familiar but couldn't quite put his finger on.

He wasn't afraid. He knew he could take anyone, even without a weapon. He was more interested to discover who in the world was bold enough to not only break into _his_ home, but to have a shower in it. 

When Sergei rounded the corner into the living room, his eyebrows cocked upwards in surprise. 

Albert Wesker. 

Sitting on his couch.

In his bathrobe. 

The blond was casually sipping a cocktail, blue eyes blinking towards him curiously as he entered the room. 

"Comrade Wesker?" Sergei asked, pouting sarcastically, "Come to make good on your promise? I've been a good boy, I assure you."

"Have you?"

Sergei's head snapped to the side, the question emanating not from the man in front of him but from a voice behind him. 

In the doorframe to his bedroom was... Albert Wesker.

Smirking. Leaning against the wood trim, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

Sergei's eyes flicked to and fro for a moment, unsure if the jet lag was causing him to hallucinate. It took him a moment to process the implications of what he was witnessing.

Albert... had made his own clone. 

"Come here." 

The _not_ Albert on the couch immediately complied, setting down his drink and shuffling around the coffee table to saunter up to the other. He was embraced by a single arm that pulled him close, tucking his head under the other man's chin like a child who had run to its mother. Albert began to stroke the clone's back gently, fingers moving along the soft fabric of the bathrobe in tender circles.

"No one is my Master but _me_."

~

Sergei wasn't quite sure if he'd died. 

Perhaps, he thought, he'd had an exhaustion-induced heart attack in his elevator and was passing through the final stages of limbo, living out whatever fantasies the Gods decided before they determined his fate and sent him to hell. 

It was no matter, however. He would gladly burn for eternity once _this_ was done. 

His fingers ran through the clone's soft hair, gently encouraging it in its skilful oral ministrations. He sucked at his cock head dutifully, tongue lapping at the glans with every little bob and slurp. 

A part of him wished he could have watched, but his vision was currently obscured by the _real_ Albert's incredible asscheeks, the man had straddled his face after demanding he eat him out. And as much as he loved to watch a handsome young twink suck his cock, he wouldn't trade the current view for the world. Sergei diligently buried his tongue deep in Albert's tight entrance, tip lapping at the walls hungrily. The little mews and moans he was making with every stroke of his insides were delightful, and fully complimented the perverse suckling noises coming from between his own legs. 

"Enjoying yourself, Sergei?" Albert huffed, wiggling his hips a bit on Sergei's face. 

"Mmhm!" 

"You're lucky I'm so curious..." He snorted, "Work deeper, you sick little pig."

Sergei happily complied, pushing his tongue into Albert's hole as far as he could reach. He thrust it like it were a little cock, stroking particularly firmly against where he knew Albert's prostate was hidden behind a fleshy wall. He was rewarded with a particularly loud moan from the younger man, who began to rock himself gently.

Between his legs, he felt the clone gargle, slipping his lips away.

"M-Master! There is...!" 

Albert giggled, "Precum, dear."

"There is lots of precum..." The clone said innocently. 

"Does it taste good?"

"Yes, Master! There is just so much..." Sergei could feel the clone begin stroking his cock with both hands.

"Mmhm... Sergei had a _**big**_ cock so he makes _**lots**_ of precum."

Sergei groaned at Albert's filthy words, responding by letting his lips close around the younger man's hole and sucking like he were trying to slurp his organs out. Albert practically screamed, thighs clenching at Sergei's jaw tightly as he rode through a wave of pleasure. 

"P-perhaps S-sergei I-is gett-ing too ex-excited!" Albert gasped, "M-maybe we n-need to change it up a bit..."

Sergei was disappointed when Albert sat up, lifting himself off of his face and moving to kneel on the bed beside him. 

"Get up Sergei, I want you to fuck my boy."

Sergei didn't need to be told twice.

"Your wish is my command, comrade..." He smirked, sitting up to see the clone laying back and spreading his legs. _Not_ Albert had an unconcerned sheen of cum and drool on his cheeks and chin, one that was practically inviting Sergei to lean in and lick it up. He grabbed him by his bony hips, pulling him closely as he positioned himself over his smaller body. For just a moment, he let his tongue run over _not_ Albert's face, internally bubbling with excitement at the perversion of slobbering on the clone's face with a tongue that had just been inside his _Master_.

Between their legs, Sergei grabbed his own, spit-moistened cock. He barely hesitated in prodding his head at _not_ Albert's entrance, one the clone was dutifully spreading as his other had told him to. 

But a peculiar **_click_** forced him to pause. He stopped his licking and looked over his shoulder to where Albert had just closed a small bottle of lubricant. He tossed it to the side unceremoniously and began slicking up his cock with the generous portion of the thick liquid he'd poured onto his palm. 

Sergei cocked his eyebrow in impress as Albert grinned at him devilishly, "You fuck him. I fuck you."

"You are very creative indeed, comrade."

Albert shuffled on his knees to position himself behind Sergei, their size difference almost laughable. Albert's hands looked minuscule as they grabbed at Sergei's hips and adjusted his position slightly.

"Ready?"

"Oh, comrade, please." Sergei almost laughed. But his smugness was immediately challenged when Albert thrust into him without further warning, fully sheathing himself with such force that Sergei bucked his hips forward and involuntarily slipped his cock into the clone's body. Both he and _not_ Albert had the same expression of wide-eyed delight on their faces, the clone spreading his legs a bit wider to give Sergei more room.

"Not so tight, are you, Sergei?" Albert hummed over his shoulder, "Should have figured as much with a perverted bastard like you."

He thrust a few times as he gained purchase, each rock of his hips pushing Sergei further into his clone, who was mewing with excitement as the massive organ filled him up.

"N-not bad, _malysh_. Now I r-regret n-not doing this with your c-clones sooner..." Sergei stammered, almost feeling slightly overwhelmed with the level of stimulation he was experiencing, both of his primary erogenous zones being fully catered to.

"Fuck you..." Albert snorted, using Sergei's quip as motivation to thrust a bit harder. He forced Sergei to bottom out in his clone, the two of them shuddering as Albert seemed to take control of both of their pleasure in an instant. 

Albert held Sergei's hips firmly, working into a rhythm of pulling them back and pushing them in with every thrust, ensuring the older man was moving with his timing. The ebb and flow of cock made the clone practically squeal in delight, tossing his arms around Sergei's head as his eyes fluttered shut, mouth gaped with bliss. Sergei was likewise having his own moment, mouth involuntarily clasping against _not_ Albert's neck and sucking it hard enough to leave an instant bruise. 

"How does Sergei's cock feel?" Albert asked snidely, but the clone seemed to have a difficult time doing much more than blathering and drooling.

"O-ooh! Ooh! S-sho g-good, M-aa-shter! G-gahh!"

Sergei was having an equally as difficult time, grunting and growling primitively as he fucked and was fucked in tandem. In all of his sexual trysts he'd never quite felt as _fantastic_ as he did in that moment. It was more than the raw, hot physical pleasure that made him delirious with lust, but the incredible psychological twist that came with fulfilment after everything had had happened over the past few months.

But everything that had happened and would happen was swept out of Sergei's mind as his thoughts turned to utter mush, pouring from his ears as Albert began to thrust harder and harder. He was practically throwing his entire body weight into the aggressive, forceful movement of his hips, something that told Sergei his orgasm was drawing near. 

_Not_ Albert practically screamed when Sergei began to match the force in Albert's thrusts, keeping the rhythm the younger man had set but slipping out of his passive role. The three of them became a mess of moaning, writhing bodies, all ready to reach their climaxes. 

The clone was the first to cum -- Sergei could feel his light, creamy load spill between them and scrub between their bodies, not Albert tossing his head back and belting out a groan of utter satisfaction.

Sergei tried to keep his own orgasm at bay until Albert came, but was unable to -- already extraordinary primed from the extended blowjob he'd been given earlier. The volume of cum he spilled in the clone's body made the simulacrum whimper and gasp, guts flooded with thick ejaculate that never seemed to stop flowing. Albert continued his assault on Sergei's prostate while reaching his own climax, ensuring the older man was thoroughly milked throughout. 

Albert slammed his hips into Sergei's bottom a final time and released, every muscle in his body quivering while he spilled his seed. He was barely able to keep upright, only the grip he had on Sergei's hips keeping him from falling over immediately. As the tremors wracking through him reached his arms and his grip weakened, he toppled back into the pillows, cock still twitching out a few thin tendrils of cum across his hips.

"F-fuck..." He huffed, eyes clenched shut in post-orgasmic rigor. 

Sergei stayed atop the clone, who had clutched onto his back like a koala and showed no signs of letting go. After Albert had withdrawn and fallen away, he'd even let his legs wrap around Sergei's hips, silently demanding he not withdraw his still-sheathed but rapidly softening cock. 

_Not_ Albert nestled his nose into Sergei's collarbone, practically purring in contentedness. Sergei thought it was adorable, and lifted a hand to brush through the blond's tousled hair.

"Can I keep him?" He asked tenderly with a pout.

Though he'd already known what the answer was going to be, he didn't quite anticipate the harsh kick to the back that came with it, sending him flying forward to bare down his full body's weight onto the clone, who gasped in shock.

_**"Absolutely not!!"** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You were almost a Sergei sandwich."
> 
> I love how this story started out SOOOO seriously and I was thinking "yeahhh imma write a PROPER dark fic mwahahahahaha" and then it ended with light humour and Sergei sandwich. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed Radelski and others! Thank you very much for reading <3


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